Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

“We’ll talk in a couple of days,” I said. “Don’t worry about this.” I indicated the house behind us. Stella was our client and in the end, what happened next would be up to her.

Mac walked Ethan to his car. They shook hands and Ethan left. Michelle looked at Nick. “Keep an eye out for the victim’s cell and his briefcase.”

“I will,” he said. He glanced at me, almost smiled and then went back inside the house.

“You can go now, Sarah,” Michelle said. “But I’ll need to talk to both you and Mac”—she glanced over at the SUV—“and Rose.”

“We’ll be at the shop for the rest of the day,” I said. The crime scene van pulled in at the curb then.

“I’ll talk to you later, then.” She touched my shoulder and then headed across the lawn toward the van.

I joined Mac. “We can leave,” I said. I pulled the car keys out of my pocket. “When Stella asked us to clear out this place, this wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“It’ll work out,” Mac said, one hand on the passenger door of the SUV. “The guy is a stranger. They won’t have a client. They’re not going to get involved this time.”

In the backseat Rose was writing furiously in a small notebook while Elvis craned his neck, seemingly trying to read what she was writing.

I looked at Mac. “I think there’s half a jar of Charlotte’s cucumber relish in the refrigerator at the shop,” I said.

He frowned. “And why would I want Charlotte’s cucumber relish?”

I gave him a tight smile as I reached for the driver’s door handle. “Because I’m pretty certain you’re going to have to eat your words.”

Chapter 3

I was coming down the stairs carrying a stack of three cardboard boxes—the top one wobbling precariously—when Stella Hall walked into Second Chance, stopping to wipe her feet on the rubber welcome mat by the front door. It had been more than a week since I found Ronan Quinn’s body. The police and the medical examiner’s office were still investigating, so the house was still off-limits. Both Michelle and Nick were staying tight-lipped.

Stella was a tiny dumpling of a woman, short and solid in a blue slicker and green rubber boots. “Hello, Sarah,” she said.

“Hi, Stella,” I replied, waggling an elbow at her before I stopped, midstep, to lean a shoulder against the teetering boxes trying to steady them. “How are you?”

Rose had spotted me coming down the stairs and was on her way over from the cash desk to rescue me.

“Mad as a wet hen,” Stella said flatly. “I want to hire you.”

“Um . . . you already did that,” I said. The side of my face was against one box, and my voice was a little muffled.

“I know that,” she said. “I was talking to Rose.”

I forgot all about my tipsy load and leaned sideways to look at her.

Rose was at the foot of the stairs. Stella had pushed back the hood of her slicker and her soft white hair was mussed a little. The look on her face was pure determination from the set of her jaw to the gleam in her blue eyes. “I want to hire you, all of you,” she said. “I want you to find out who killed that man, Ronan Quinn.”

The top box of my stack fell and bounced down the steps to land at Rose’s feet, followed by the second one. Luckily they were full of old pairs of jeans and nothing breakable.

I scrambled down the stairs still holding the third box. Rose picked up the one that had landed directly at her feet. The other had come to rest just to the side of the last riser. I set the box I was carrying on top of it and took the one Rose was holding from her.

She smiled at me. “Less haste, more speed, my dear,” she said softly.

I put the third box on top of the other two—in a less unsteady pile than I’d been carrying—and turned to face Stella, pasting what I hoped was a warm, nonjudgmental expression on my face. “The police are investigating Ronan Quinn’s murder,” I said.

“And taking too bloody long at it,” she retorted. “Pardon my language.” She looked from me to Rose. “Ethan said he told you that Edison’s so-called wine collection was nothing more than a bunch of swill.”

I nodded.

“Ethan hired that man to appraise all those bottles of wine. He was killed in my brother’s house. I don’t believe it was a coincidence.” Stella’s voice was edged with anger.

“Neither do I,” Rose said.

“I want you to find out who killed Mr. Quinn. I’m sure it’s the same people who cheated my brother,” Stella said vehemently, two splotches of color appearing on her cheeks. “I want them punished!”

Liz had just come in the front door, stopping to shake her umbrella. She was wearing a trench coat with the collar turned up and a tan fedora.

“Why?” she asked, walking over to join us.

“Hello, Liz,” Stella said. “What do you mean, why?”

“I mean why do you care?” Liz said. “You don’t even know that so-called expert your nephew hired and no offense, but you and Edison weren’t exactly close when he was alive.” She took off her hat and smoothed her blond hair into place. As usual her nails were perfectly manicured, today in a soft shade of coral that matched the coral-and-turquoise scarf at her throat.

Rose’s eyes widened. “Liz!” she hissed.

Stella waved one hand in the air. “It’s okay. It’s a valid question.” She focused her attention on Liz. “You’re right. Edison and I always had a prickly relationship—right back to when we were kids. But he was my blood and no one had the right to take the money he earned with his own two hands.”

“Fair enough,” Liz said.

“Do you want to hear the rest?” Stella asked.

One perfectly groomed eyebrow rose slightly. “If you want to tell us.”

“You may as well know the whole story before you say yes or no,” Stella said. She stood, feet apart, hands shoved in her pockets. “I’m hoping there’s some way to recover at least some of the money my dang fool brother spent on all those worthless bottles for Ethan and Ellie.”

Ellie was Ethan’s wife, a kindergarten teacher and mother to their four small children.

“This stays between us,” Stella continued, her expression grave. “But Ellie needs an operation on her back.”

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked immediately.

Stella gave her head a shake. “I don’t understand all the medical mumbo jumbo, but I can tell you that it’s getting harder for her to walk without falling and if she doesn’t have the surgery, eventually she’ll be in a wheelchair.”

“Don’t they have health insurance?” Liz asked.

Ethan was an associate professor of political science at Camber College.

Stella made a face. “They won’t pay because the surgeon wants to use some new technique—he says it’ll give Ellie the best outcome—and the insurance company calls it experimental.”

“I’m so sorry,” Liz said softly.

“Ellie was good to Edison and Lord knows he could be a cantankerous old coot sometimes. But he would have wanted to help her.” She sighed. “I was hoping there’d be some money from his estate, but it turns out he’d borrowed against the house. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

Out of Stella’s line of sight, Liz rolled her eyes. When I’d agreed to take on the job of clearing out Edison’s house, Charlotte commented that we never would have gotten in the door when the old man was alive. He’d gotten even more prickly and suspicious in the last couple of years.

Liz had countered that she’d seen Edison at the bank, arguing loudly with the manager. “I’d thought about giving him a nudge out the door with the toe of my best red pumps,” she’d said.

The shoes she’d been talking about had a sharply pointed toe that looked as lethal as an ice pick. I’d tried not to grin at her comment while Charlotte shook her head and frowned at Liz over her glasses.